


Like a Hero Going Home

by pooh_collector



Category: White Collar
Genre: Case Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Anklet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pooh_collector/pseuds/pooh_collector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a difficult undercover assignment, Neal has trouble finding his way home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Hero Going Home

Billy Riley was in deep with the Irish mob.  As a kid growing up on the south side of Boston his weekends were divided between his altar boy duties and working as a runner for the McGinty family.  As he grew so did his responsibilities.  He had talent which was noticed and used.  

Billy wasn’t the worst guy, there were others in the family who did the real dirty work, but Billy’s moral compass was definitely set to the left of true north.  He preferred to use his silver tongue and megawatt charm to get the job done, whatever it may happen to be, but he had no problem with slapping around store owners when collecting protection money, or managing the oversight of the pimps and the dealers who subsidized the family’s coffers, or breaking legs to collect debts owed.   

But not too long ago things went south for Billy.  Old man McGinty had turned senile and the day-to-day operations of the business had fallen to his lieutenants one of whom had no love at all for Billy.  Billy tried to keep a low profile, do his job and not get into anything with said lieutenant but Billy wasn’t really the kind of guy who could maintain a low profile.  So it didn’t take long for Billy to realize his best course of action was to get of Dodge.  

He landed in Queens in a third floor walkup apartment.    

Billy quickly found his way into the local Irish family, the O’Neill’s.  He started out slowly for a few weeks, running numbers, a little debt collection.  Just as in Boston, Billy’s talents didn’t stay hidden and soon enough he was involved in quite a few aspects of the family business.  

Billy’s quick rise in the O’Neill family didn’t come without a price.  Billy did some things that even Billy found morally questionable, cheating family men out of their mortgage payments, turning a blind eye while underage girls sold themselves to pay for the drugs they bought from the O’Neills’ dealers, standing idly by while a lower level family henchman was sent to an early grave.  

“Let that be the only lesson you need, Billy.  Don’t ever let your loyalty waiver.”  Billy was told by his immediate superior, Collins while the man lowered his gun.

Billy had never been a fan of object lessons.

***

Six weeks after Billy started working for the O’Neills, he got dressed in his best black jeans, a white button down shirt and his black leather jacket and took the subway into Manhattan to a club just off of Times Square.  He spent a couple of hours there flirting shamelessly, drinking whiskey and dancing on the center of the floor with one woman after another.

Then he quietly slipped out a back entrance, grabbed the One train to Columbus Circle, switched to the B train, got off at 81st street and stopped in a little coffee shop not far from the Museum of Natural History.  The man Billy expected to be meeting wasn’t there when he arrived so Billy grabbed a booth at the very back of the shop, sat down facing the door and kept his head down.  He ordered a cup of coffee when the waitress came by and then sat nursing the brew while he waited.

It wasn’t long before someone else entered the shop, someone Billy hadn’t expected to see.  The man spotted Billy, made his way over to the booth and sat down opposite him.  

Billy waited until the waitress came by with another cup and a carafe leaving both of them with fresh steaming coffees before he spoke to the man sitting across from him.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?”  He whispered, his southie accent enhanced by his anger.  

Peter blinked, startled by the vehemence in the voice of the man who sat across from him.  “Conway couldn’t make it.  Ruiz decided I was the next best thing.”  

Peter watched as the face of the man in front of him changed dramatically.  The hard edges and dark hooded eyes gave way to a softer, tired expression that Peter was all too familiar with.

Neal sat back in the booth with an exasperated sigh.  “You shouldn’t be here Peter.”

“I want to be here.”  He answered quietly.

Neal nodded, but gave no other indication that he understood what Peter was getting at, nor did he tell Peter in voice or look that he was glad to see him.  Instead he dug into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.  He slid it across the table toward his partner.  “It’s not much, dates and locations for a couple of drug transfers.  I’m still working my way in.”  Neal swallowed hard, a distant look flashing across his face momentarily.  

“Neal?”

“Don’t call me that!”  Neal hissed, anger flaring again.  

“Sorry,” Peter replied.  He was disconcerted by the rapid fire changes in Neal’s mood.  “Are you okay?”  He asked carefully.

Neal scrubbed a hand across his face.  “I’m fine.”  He replied curtly.  “Look, I understand why you wanted to see me, but it was a bad idea.  It’s hard enough meeting with Conway.  I don’t need the distraction, okay?  Tell Conway I’ll meet him at the place on 3rd next Tuesday at our usual time.”  

With that Neal got up, threw a ten down on the table and left the coffee shop.  

Peter sat where Neal had left him stunned.  In all the years he had known Neal he had never met the version of the man who had sat across the table from him.   

He took a steadying sip from his coffee cup, picked up the piece of paper that Neal had given him and shoved it in the front pocket of his jeans.  

He had known from the beginning that this was a bad idea.  Neal had only been permanently free from the anklet for a month when Ruiz strolled into Hughes’s office and insisted that Neal was the perfect person for this undercover assignment.  Peter had protested, had tried to make the case that Neal was essential to several of the cases that While Collar was currently working on, but Hughes had seen Ruiz’s side and after just a couple of days of prep, during which Neal had had no time to spend with Peter and Elizabeth, he had become Billy Riley and moved into the apartment in Queens.

As worried as Peter had been for Neal over the past six weeks, this meeting had made it that much worse.  Peter sighed, got up from the table and started the trek back to Brooklyn where he would have to do his best to keep a lid on his concern to protect Elizabeth.     

***

By the time Neal made it back to Billy’s apartment he was a wreck.  Seeing Peter, being close enough to touch his partner, but not being able to do so, to take that kind of risk, had undone him.  It was hard enough to be Billy, the kind of guy who could stand by while another man was slain in front of his eyes, without the reminder that Peter and Elizabeth were waiting for Neal to come back to them.  

The FBI wasn’t after Collins, at least that’s not why they sent Neal undercover.  So despite his desperate desire to stop Collins from killing Jimmy Hennessy, or to turn him over to Peter tonight for doing so, Neal had to let it go, for now.  The man Neal was really after was Seamus O’Neill.  The FBI believed that he was at the center of a large human trafficking ring.  If Neal could get close enough and they could shut down the organization or at least destroy that aspect of it, hundreds of young women would be saved from a life of slavery.  What Neal had had to do to get in with the O’Neills would be worth it, if he could make that happen.    

It was late, nearly three in the morning, but as usual Neal was too wired, or maybe Billy was, to sleep.  He took a hot shower jerking off in the middle of it to images of Peter and Elizabeth touching him, loving him and then he sat in front of the crappy television that had come with his furnished apartment until his eyes slid shut and he slept.   

***

Billy spent another five weeks with the O’Neill family, doing whatever was asked of him in order to prove his loyalty and gain admittance into the family’s inner circle.  It was easy work for Billy, making collections, running book, helping to manage some side interests through Collins.  These were the same things Billy had been doing since he was a kid in Boston.  And, Billy’s efforts and loyalty were being rewarded.  He was given more and more responsibility, which pleased him and Collins who was taking a certain amount of credit for Billy’s work and for bringing Billy into the fold.   

Most evenings Billy would end up at Saints & Sinners in Woodside where members of the family, the lieutenants and those in favor with them would set business aside for the day and drink a few pints.  Billy used this time to his advantage charming the socks off of everyone in the room, and playing on the egos and insecurities of the men who could get him the information he needed.

At the end of the night Billy would return to his apartment.  Once the door was safely shut on the outside world Neal would try to shut the door on Billy.

It wasn’t easy.  Inside Billy’s apartment, with Billy’s rented furniture, wearing Billy’s clothes, Neal had a hard time shaking Billy.  He was plagued by a constant feeling of anxiety.  There was a colony of butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in his chest.  His stomach fluttered and flopped consistently, making it hard for Neal to eat anything.  He felt jittery and edgy, like he needed to be in constant motion.  Billy had actually developed a nervous tick, his right leg bouncing non-stop whenever he sat as a result of Neal’s stress.  

In the old days when Neal had been running cons, even the long con on Adler, anxiety was always part of the mix, but the thrill of the con, the anticipation of the payoff, had always made the game exciting, a rush.  Even going undercover for White Collar had always been fun along with nerve wracking.  But that was not the case now.  Every day that Neal lived as Billy Riley was another terrible day, where Billy did terrible things as Neal watched and prayed for an end to his misery.    

The night that Collins had shot his underling Hennessy in cold blood for skimming a couple hundred bucks off the top of the protection money he collected, Neal had thrown a chair across the room breaking a table lamp.  Then he had gone into his tiny bathroom and thrown up violently.  It had been a long time since Neal had felt so impotent or so furious with himself.  

Most nights he came back to the apartment slightly buzzed from one too many pints of Guinness and paced the small space like a caged tiger until he felt exhausted enough to fall asleep.  The other nights he would go directly to bed and lie there wishing he was home with Peter spooned up behind him and Elizabeth curled up in his arms.  He would pretend that he could smell Elizabeth’s shampoo and feel Peter’s strong hands warm against his skin.  He had only just moved in with them permanently a week before he had been given this assignment, but he missed being _home_ with them so much it hurt physically.

***

Eleven weeks into what Neal considered to be the worst time of his life Seamus O’Neill told Collins to bring Billy along to pick up a shipment at the Port of New York/New Jersey.  

They were at Saints and Sinners.  It had been a good evening for Billy.  Seamus had invited him and Collins to sit at the booth he occupied as his throne room each night in the corner of the bar.  Billy had used the occasion to flash his smile and wag his silver tongue to profusely thank O’Neill for all the opportunities he’s been given.  

Seamus took the bait and now Neal had less than 24 hours to get a message to his handler Conway.  He wasn’t scheduled to meet him for another four days.  Neal was going to have to risk making a call, meeting with Conway and getting wired since he had no idea where exactly they would be picking up this shipment.  He also had to keep his fingers crossed that this was indeed the shipment he had been waiting for and not a cargo container full of stolen flat screens.

When he left the pub, he made his way toward the apartment stopping in a 24-hour bodega along the way.  He grabbed some milk, a box of cereal and a couple of other items at random, along with a burner cell.  He had the guy working the counter put his purchases into a bag and then he continued on his way.  

At the apartment he called Conway on the burner and set up a meet for nine the next morning at St. Sebastian’s.  Conway would pass the tracking equipment to Neal sometime during the weekday mass.

After mass, back in his apartment, Neal opened the watch with the tracker Conway had given him, removed the device and stuffed it into his shoe.  Billy never wore a watch.  Then he took his earpiece and shoved it into his front jeans pocket until he would need it.  

***

Peter was sitting at his desk reviewing evidence on a home invasion that involved nearly $10 million in art wishing for about the 10 millionth time that Neal was sitting in the chair across from him when Ruiz appeared at his office door.

Fear for his partner seized Peter.  In the nearly three months that Neal had been undercover for Organized Crime, Ruiz had never come up to see him.

“Burke.”

“Ruiz.”

“The O’Neills have some sort of shipment coming in tonight.  Caffrey thinks it’s what we’ve been waiting for.”

Peter felt the fear and tension in his body ease.

“Thought you might want to be there for the takedown,” Ruiz continued.

Peter nodded.

“We’ll be heading out around eight.”  Ruiz stated before turning and heading back the way he had come.

In moments Peter went from dread to elation.  It was almost over.  With luck Peter would be able to bring Neal home with him tonight.  Home to Brooklyn where Neal belonged.  

***   

It was dark and late when Collins and Neal pulled their van through the gates at the Red Hook Container Terminal followed by two other identical, nondescript vans.  Collins had handed the guard at the gate a four-inch thick manila envelope on their way in.  

They spent another few minutes navigating the yard before pulling to a stop in front of several stacked containers just in from the end of one of the piers.  As Neal got out of the van he fished the earpiece out of his pocket, activated it and stuffed it in place.  

The other two vans pulled up next to theirs, and Seamus and three other men emerged from them.

Nothing was said as the group of men approached one of the containers.  Seamus checked the number on the side against a lading bill he had in his hand and then directed one of the guys to cut off the lock and open it up.  It was utterly nondescript and looked completely like all of the others on the pier.  Neal found it odd that a plain, rust-coated, forest green metal box could be at the center of so much evil.

Neal held his breath while the lock on the container doors was cut hoping desperately that it held the human cargo he had been working so hard to uncover.  Simultaneously, a small part of him was hoping for the flat screens.  He had visited Cape Coast once and had seen the small, dark dungeon cells where human lives were given over to the horrors of slavery.  It wasn’t something he ever wanted to witness outside of history.     

But before the doors were more than cracked open Neal knew what the container held.  The stench of unwashed bodies, human waste and fear filled the air.  He quickly shifted to breathing through his mouth, in an effort to avoid being overcome.  One of the other men who had accompanied them staggered off to the side and Neal could hear him retching.  Neal guessed it was his first time working this particular job for the O’Neills too.   

When the doors were swung open wide Seamus grabbed the oversized maglite one of the other guys was carrying and shined it into the container.  Neal could see the shapes of dozens of women, kids really, huddled as far back into the small space as possible.  The sounds of whimpers and crying reached his ears.  In all his life, including his years in prison, Neal had never been more disgusted by man's inhumanity.  But he held his revulsion tight to himself and kept Billy's face passive and indifferent.  All he needed to do was hold it together until Ruiz arrived.  

Seamus was sporting what Neal could only describe as a shit-eating grin as he waved the light around from one terrified innocent face to the next.  "Nice, very nice," He leered.  "Tommy, Michael, let's start getting them into the vans."

Neal was beginning to wonder where his backup was.  With the girls in the process of being moved the takedown was going to be chaotic at best.  But he heard no sirens and saw no flashing red and blue lights as they began moving the girls into the vans.  

At one point Collins directed Billy to go and open the back of the van they had arrived in.  Neal took the opportunity to mutter to those he knew were listening in “whenever you guys feel like crashing this party, please be my guest” with as much urgency and sarcasm as he could muster.  

Now they were loading some of the girls into his van while Neal stood by.  One of them, she couldn’t have been more than 14, grabbed onto the front of his jacket.  Her doleful, pale blue eyes gleaming up at him as she begged in a Slavic dialect that Neal caught bits of to help her.  

He shuddered as he carefully pulled her hand from his chest and pushed her gently into the van.  

The van was packed with some thirty-five of the girls when Collins instructed Billy to lock it up.  The last of the girls were being ushered into the final transport when Neal finally heard the screech of tires and the whoop of a siren.  

“FBI, everybody down!”  Ruiz’s voice cut above the other sounds on the pier.  

In the blink of an eye, the chaos that Neal had anticipated rolled over the area.  Guns were produced on both sides, shots were fired, girls began screaming and running in all directions.  Neal ducked and tried to stay out of the fray.  The plan was for him to be arrested with the others, to keep his cover intact in the event it was necessary for him to stay undercover to gather more evidence.  

In an effort to stay out of the line of fire, Neal made his way around the side of the van to the front, hoping it would provide him the best protection.  From that vantage point he had the whole of the van between him and most of the gunfire.  He could also see O’Neill’s men and most of the FBI agents who had the pier blocked off from the rest of the yard.  

The agents were trying hard to get as many of the panicked girls to cover as possible and it was clearly impeding their ability to pin down O’Neill and the others.  Tommy got the bright idea to grab one of the girls and use her as a shield as he attempted to move around the FBI blockade.  

While several of the agents were occupied with Tommy, Neal saw Seamus swing around behind a group of stacked containers.  From Neal’s perspective it looked like Seamus’s move had gone unnoticed.  “O’Neill’s moved to the south behind a stack of containers.”  He said aloud, hoping that someone was still monitoring his earpiece and would relay the information to the agents on the pier.  

He waited, watching for someone to head in that direction to cut off O’Neill’s escape attempt, but he saw no one.  “Dammit,” he cursed.  If O’Neill made it off the pier they might not be able to uphold his connection to the trafficking in court.  Then everything that Neal had done, everything he had been a party to these past three months would be for nothing.

Neal took a deep breath and launched himself across the battlefield not bothering with any attempts to find cover along the way.  He just stayed low and ran as quickly as his adrenaline fueled legs would go.  When he reached the spot where Seamus had ducked behind the containers Neal followed his course slamming himself hard into the the corrugated steel when he rounded the corner at top speed.  

He ran down the length of the container and peered around the next corner.  He could see Seamus at the end of the line.  

Neal took a moment to school his features.  He would have a better chance of getting close to O’Neill as Billy.  Then he scurried down to where O’Neill stood biding his time apparently waiting for another distraction.   

“What the hell are you doing, Billy?”  O’Neill seethed as Neal approached.  Neal could see that O’Neill had no gun, but he still held the maglite in his grip.  

Billy held his hands up in a submissive gesture.  “I’m not armed.  I’m just trying to get out of here without getting shot.”  Neal muttered convincingly in his southie account as he continued to inch closer to Seamus.  The best cons always contain a grain of truth.  

Seamus scowled and then turned away from Billy and looked out to wait for his opening.  Once his back was turned Neal didn’t hesitate.  He threw himself at O’Neill, tackling him.

Unfortunately Seamus was not a small man.  Though Neal had surprise on his side, Seamus didn’t go down.  He pushed back against Neal throwing him off.  Then he spun and swung the maglite at Neal’s head.  Neal managed to duck, but his balance was thrown off and he staggered giving O’Neill the opening he needed to connect.  Neal threw his arm up just in time to prevent the flashlight from slamming him in the side of the head.  It caught him in the upper arm instead with a resounding whack.  Neal, still off balance, staggered into the side of the container and almost lost his footing completely.

Seamus didn’t let up.  He swung the flashlight again, a vicious gleam in his eyes.  “You think you can turn on me?”  He yelled as the flashlight connected with Neal’s body a few inches above his hip.  

Neal cringed when pain exploded through his side.  But he pulled himself up nonetheless and threw himself at O’Neill again.  There was no way Neal was letting the hell of the past three months end with O’Neill’s escape.

“I was never with you, you son of a bitch.”  Neal replied as he rammed his fist into Seamus’s face.  This time it was O’Neill who staggered.  Neal pressed his advantage grabbing at the arm that held the flashlight while throwing his fist into O’Neill’s face again.

“I told Collins there was something off about you.”  O’Neill sneered as he wrestled the arm holding the flashlight out of Neal’s grip.

“Yeah, sure you did.  That’s why you invited me and the FBI here tonight.”  Neal taunted as he ducked another swing of the flashlight.

The comment had the effect Neal was going for.  Seamus’s anger grew and he got sloppy, swinging the flashlight wildly and throwing himself off balance when it failed to connect with Neal yet again.  

Neal used the moment to throw his weight into O’Neill, shoving the man backward.  The maneuver worked and O’Neill stumbled toward the ground.  As he did so, the hand holding the maglite whipped up.  This time Neal couldn’t get his own arm up in time and the heavy metal object clipped him on the side of his head.  He saw stars, his vision brimming with them.  Then blackness danced at the periphery.  Neal saw his chance to keep the advantage skittering away from him, so he did the only thing he could think of and threw himself on top of O’Neill hoping that he could pin the other man to the ground long enough for his vision and his head to clear.

They went down together in a jumbled mess of arms, legs and impotent fury.  Neal closed his eyes against the confusion wrought by his wonky eyesight and did his best to keep his weight centered on top of Seamus.  It worked for a moment or two and then Neal felt his body tipping off of O’Neill’s as the other man shoved against him.  

Just as Neal spilled to the side a voice yelled out “Freeze!”

Neal recognized the voice immediately and sighed in relief.  

Beside him Neal could feel O’Neill flailing ineffectually for another moment before giving in when Peter repeated his command.

Neal rolled from his side onto his back and opened his eyes.  The haze cleared quickly and Neal saw Peter standing over him, concern radiating from his partner’s face.

Peter said nothing though as he hauled Seamus to his feet, cuffed him and started pushing him back out to where the FBI had apparently taken control of the situation.  

Neal lay there on the pavement for a moment to catch his breath and try to assess his various aches and pains.  His head was still ringing, the pain there sharp but not too bad.  His arm was sore, definitely bruised but nothing more.  His side burned and the pain came in acute bursts when he sucked in a breath.  

He must have closed his eyes again when the adrenaline crash hit without realizing it because suddenly there was movement next to him.  Neal snapped his eyes open.  Peter was crouched down next to him.  “I’m going to get the EMT’s.  Stay down.”  There was grave concern on Peter’s face as he placed a hand down gently on Neal’s chest.

Neal couldn’t help the small shudder that ran through him at Peter’s touch.  God how he had missed Peter’s touch.  “I’m fine.”  Neal contested.  “I just needed a minute to catch my breath.”  

Peter looked down at Neal skeptically, but then placed his hand under Neal’s arm to support him when Neal sat up.  Neal winced at the pain in his side.  “That’s it, I’m getting the EMT’s, no arguing.”  

Peter stood and started back toward where the emergency vehicles were parked.  Just before he turned the corner around the containers he looked back at Neal, wagged a finger at him and said “stay!”

Neal counted to three, took as deep a breath as he could manage around the pain in his side and then laboriously got to his feet.  He didn’t need the EMT’s thank you very much.  

When he turned the corner back toward where the vans were parked, Neal saw a score of emergency vehicles, personnel from both the FBI and emergency services assisting the girls and the last of O’Neill’s men being loading into the back of an FBI prisoner transport truck.  Other agents were taping off the scene and yet others had already begun evidence collection.  

Neal started his walk across the pier unnoticed.  Behind the van that Billy had arrived in Neal found an ambulance gurney.  The terrified young girl that had grabbed his jacket and begged for his help was lying on it.  The pale blue eyes that had shone up at him in desperation minutes ago were now open and vacant.

Neal swallowed convulsively against the self-hatred that had become a part of him over these past three months.  He stumbled on unable to even process the irony of her death when all Neal had wanted to do was save her from a life in hell.

As he neared the wall of FBI and emergency vehicles at the top of the pier an agent he didn’t know approached him with his hand on his sidearm.  “You, stop right there,” he commanded.

Neal stopped.  

“Let’s see some ID.”  The agent continued.

Unthinking, Neal pulled Billy Riley’s wallet from his pocket and handed it over to the agent.  The agent took one look at the standard issue New York driver’s license and grabbed for his handcuffs.  “I’m placing you under arrest.  Hands on the back of your head.”

Neal knew he had given up his undercover identity when he tackled O’Neill and that he had no reason to follow the plan and allow himself to be taken in.  He knew he should tell the agent that he had been undercover, that he wasn’t really one of O’Neill’s men, but he couldn’t wash the image of that young girl from his mind and maybe he should be arrested and held accountable for her death and the death of Hennessy.  So he just moved his hands behind his head compliantly.  The position made the injuries to his upper arm and his side ache that much more and Neal grimaced as the agent placed the cuffs around his wrists.

Then the agent took him by the elbow and began leading him to the prisoner transport reading Neal his rights as they walked.  They had just reached the back of the truck when Neal heard Peter’s voice yell, “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I thought Mr. Riley here should join his friends.”  The man replied smugly.  “He’d nearly walked away from the scene scot free when I caught him.”

Peter closed the distance the between them.  “Nice work, agent...?”

“Morgan.”  The man said smiling, clearly pleased at the attention from a senior agent.  Neal didn’t really know how it was possible that Morgan was missing the sarcasm in Peter’s voice.

“Morgan,” Peter repeated nodding.  “You just cuffed our undercover agent, who by the way was injured in the line of duty and should be sitting in an ambulance right now.”

The smile fell from Morgan’s face.  He quickly fished out his handcuff key and unlocked the cuffs from Neal’s wrists, mumbling an apology to Neal as he did so.

Neal just nodded and allowed Peter to drag him toward one of the ambulances.  Peter was droning on about how there was no need to protect his cover now, and why hadn’t he stayed where Peter had left him, and he needed to get checked out and not give the EMT’s any trouble and on and on.  Neal wasn’t paying much attention to the actual words.  He simply registered them as Peter’s standard post-op lecture and nodded along obligingly.  He just wanted this to be over.

Twenty minutes later the EMT’s had Neal strapped down to a gurney in preparation to move out to the hospital.  Peter was sitting on the bench next to him.

Neal’s face was washed out and devoid of its usual animation.  He had been far too compliant with the EMT’s and Peter had grown more and more concerned as they worked on him.  Peter ran his hand through Neal’s hair careful to avoid the ice pack resting against the side of his head where Neal had been beamed by the flashlight.

“You doing okay?”  Peter asked quietly.  

Neal nodded slightly against Peter’s hand.  “I just want to go home.”  Then he looked up at Peter, his blue eyes tired but intent.  “Please don’t let them keep me at the hospital, Peter.”  

Peter sighed.  “Let’s just wait and hear what the doctors have to say, okay?”

Neal closed his eyes.  “I just want to go home,” he repeated in a tone that left Peter desperate to gather his lover into his arms to protect and comfort him.  

“I know buddy, I know.”

***

Elizabeth met Peter in the waiting area at the emergency room.  It had been nearly three months since she had seen Neal and waiting until Peter could bring him home was definitely out of the question.

“Hon, how is he?”  She asked anxiously as soon as she spied Peter.

Peter shook his head.  “I don’t know.  The EMT’s were saying things like possible concussion, broken ribs, internal bleeding, but no one’s come out to talk to me yet.”

As soon as Peter said ‘internal bleeding’ Elizabeth’s hand reached up to cover her mouth.  

Peter silently cursed himself for giving El even more reason to worry about Neal.  He gathered her into his arms and assured her, “He’ll be alright, El.”

El nodded into his chest.  “We’ll make sure of it.”  

They waited together hand in hand for another 45 minutes until a nurse came out and led them back to a cubicle in the treatment area.  Neal was reclining on a gurney.  He was draped in a hospital gown, but there were no IV’s or other medical equipment hooked up to him which made Peter exhale a relieved sigh.  On the other hand, Neal looked more pale and worn than Peter could ever remember seeing his partner look before.    

When he noticed them, a thin smile appeared on Neal’s face.  “Hey,” he said softly.

El was on him a moment later, running one hand through his hair and wrapping her other hand around one of Neal’s.  “Oh sweetie, I’ve missed you so much.”    

Neal took his free hand and brought it up to Elizabeth’s face, caressing her cheek, looking up at her with love and adoration.  Peter was certain he had never seen anything so beautiful as his wife and his lover in this moment.  

He joined El beside the gurney and placed his hand on Neal’s shoulder, the need to touch Neal was too strong to ignore any longer.  “How ya doin?”

“I’m okay, mild concussion, a couple of cracked ribs, some bruises.  Nothing that won’t heal.”

Peter could hear the reassurance that Neal was attempting to convey, but he wasn’t buying it.  

“Are they planning to admit you?”

“Not anymore.”  Neal looked up at Peter, daring him to contradict.  

“Neal...”

Neal stopped Peter before his thought could be voiced.  “I told you I wanted to go home.  I’m going home.”  

Neal’s tone and the expression on his face brooked no argument.  Peter nodded.  “Okay, home it is.”

An hour and a half later Peter was supporting Neal with an arm wrapped around his back through the front door at DeKalb Avenue.  Peter felt much of the stiffness and tension in Neal’s body melt as soon as they crossed the threshold.  El had unlocked the door for them and was now standing inside the entry with a hand wrapped around Satchmo’s collar.  But as soon as the dog saw Neal he whined and pulled away from her.  

“Satch, no!” She scolded trying to grab onto him again.  But he was already at Neal’s feet, licking greedily at his hand.  

“Hey Satch.  I missed you too.”  Neal said.  He reached around and scratched behind Satch’s ears, a genuine smile spreading across his tired face.  

Peter gave Neal and Satch a moment to get reacquainted and then he guided his partner up to their bedroom.   Neal’s eyes slid shut the moment Peter got him sitting on the end of the bed.  

“Hang tight. I’m just going to get you some pajamas.”  Neal nodded.  Peter patted Neal’s shoulder and then moved over to the dresser where Neal’s things were stored.  He grabbed a pair of bottoms and a loose fitting tee shirt and then returned to where Neal was sitting, eyes still closed, one leg bouncing up and down furiously.  

Peter got down on his knees in front of Neal and placed a hand gently on the jittering leg.  It took a moment but the motion ceased and then Neal opened his eyes again.

“Let’s get you ready for bed, okay?  Peter said as he reached up to undo the buttons on Neal’s shirt.  

Neal apparently had others ideas, because he suddenly reached out and drew Peter to him, kissing him hungrily and hard.  Peter hesitated for a moment, Neal was injured and exhausted, but then the longing and the desire that had been denied for three months came surging forward and Peter folded his arms around Neal and returned his kiss with equal fervor.  

Neal opened his mouth inviting Peter in.  Peter accepted the invitation, his tongue reaching into Neal’s mouth, finding his, igniting a deeper desire in the pit of Peter’s stomach.  Neal moaned and somehow managed to pull Peter tighter against himself.  They continued like that for several minutes reaffirming their love and passion for each other.  But while Peter could feel his own erection getting uncomfortably tight in the confines of his slacks, Neal’s was nowhere to be found.  The mind was willing but the body was obviously too exhausted.

Peter eased back, first gentling his kisses, then stopping and leaned his forehead into Neal’s.  “I love you.”  

Neal nodded against him.  “I love you too, and I missed you so much, both of you.”  

“I know.  I’m sorry, Neal.  I’m so sorry that you had to take this assignment.  I can’t imagine what you went through.”  

Abruptly Neal pulled away, his face shuttered.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Peter put his hand on the nape of Neal’s neck and pulled his head back down to his own.  “You don’t have to.  I just... I missed you too, so much, and I’m so glad to have you _home_.”   

Minutes later El found them like that, Neal sat on the corner of the bed with Peter kneeling between his legs, their foreheads pressed together.  She kissed Neal’s temple and then Peter’s.  “Come on you two, the snuggling is going to be much more comfortable in the bed.”

***

Neal woke feeling sore, tired and disoriented.  The bed underneath him was softer and more comfortable than the one in Billy’s walk up.  And, his space at June’s felt different, smelled different.  He was at Peter and El’s.  No, that wasn’t right either, he was home.  DeKalb Avenue was home.  But the bed around him was disconcertingly empty and cold.  He opened his eyes and looked at the bedside clock, 1:07 PM.  That could explain it.  He rolled out of the bed slowly, mindful of his tender ribs and the headache left over from his concussion, padded to the bathroom to pee and then made his way downstairs.  

Elizabeth was seated at the dining room table, her laptop open before her typing away.  “Oh you’re up.”  She smiled as she jumping up to hug him carefully and plant a kiss on his lips.  Then she took his hand and pulled him gently over to table, guiding him into a chair.  “I’ve got coffee ready.”  

Neal watched her prepare a mug for him and set it down on the table.  “Now what can I get you to eat?”

Neal shook his head.  “Nothing, I’m not really hungry.  I’ll grab a bowl of cereal a little later.”

She ran her hand through his hair, smoothing his errant curls away from his eyes.  Neal leaned into her hand, reveling in how good it felt to be touched, to be loved.

“Sweetie it’s been ages since you’ve eaten anything.  Let me make you an omelet, or I know pancakes.”  El headed back into the kitchen and began pulling supplies out of the cabinets leaving Neal feeling oddly abandoned.  

“Please El don’t.  I’m really not hungry.”  Neal’s leg had started bouncing and he was beginning to feel the burn of anxiety tighten his chest.

“It’s really no trouble.  I’m happy to do it.”  El replied as she started measuring out the flour.  

This wasn’t right.  Elizabeth had work she should be doing.  Neal didn’t deserve her attention.  He could take care of himself.  He _should_ take care of himself.  “Please stop,” he mumbled.  

Elizabeth looked up confused by his plea and the plaintive sound of his voice.  “Honey, what’s wrong?”

At the sound of El’s concern something inside of Neal snapped and anger flared whiting out any other thoughts in Neal’s head.  “I said stop!” he yelled as he threw his coffee mug across the room to smash on the tile floor of the kitchen just inches from Elizabeth’s feet.

The sound of the impact brought Neal back into the moment and the reality of what he had just done.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”  He breathed, his body quaking from shame and horror at his actions.  In his mind he imagined the mug striking El, hot black coffee burning her delicate white skin, instead of hitting the floor next to her.  He swallowed hard against the little bit of coffee he had consumed rising back up his throat.  Neal pulled himself up from his chair and scrambled to the bathroom locking himself in before dropping to the floor in front of the toilet and retching violently.  The coffee came up in the first go and then Neal spent several minutes painfully dry heaving.  By the time he was finally finished his ribs felt like they were on fire, and his head was pounding fiercely.  He leaned back against the cool porcelain of the tub breathing shallowly, waiting for the pain to ease.

When he finally felt capable of moving, he turned on the shower, stripped off his pajamas and stood under the hot stream hoping to wash away his self-contempt and the loss of self-control that had led to him almost hurting Elizabeth.  He climbed out when the water started to cool, wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into the bedroom.  

Elizabeth was seated on the bed waiting for him.  She didn’t look angry or upset at what he had done, only concerned and maybe a little sad.  

Neal felt his stomach turn over again.  “Are you okay?  I didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m fine, Neal.”  She patted the spot next to her on the bed.  “Can you come sit with me?”

Neal shook his head.  “I don’t think I can talk about this now.”

El could hear his voice shaking.  “Okay, but come sit with me anyway.”

Neal shook his head again.  He shouldn’t be anywhere near her.  He didn’t deserve her comfort.  “I should go in to the office.  I’ve got about a million reports to file.”

“No one’s expecting you there today.  Please come sit with me.”

Neal really didn’t think that he could cope with Elizabeth’s forgiveness, her concern for him.  How could she possibly forgive him so easily for the violence he had displayed, for so nearly hurting her, for what he had become.  “Please Elizabeth, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know.”  

“Then let me go, please.”

El sat on the bed for a moment, considering Neal’s demeanor, his words.  Then she got up, kissed him gently on the cheek and headed for the bedroom door.  Just before she left the room she turned back and said, “I’ll still be here when you come home.  I’ll always be here Neal.”

***

As soon as Neal left the house Elizabeth called Peter.  “Hi hon.  Are you still at the office?” she asked.

“Probably for another hour or two.  I’m just trying to wrap up my report from the takedown last night.  How’s Neal?”

Elizabeth hesitated, uncertain about how much she should tell Peter over the phone.  “He’s on his way there, at least I hope he is.”

“What happened?”  Peter’s apprehension about the potential fallout from Neal’s undercover assignment flared.  

“I’m not really sure.  He got very upset and I think he needs some space to sort some things out.  I was hoping you could check on him when he gets there.”  

Peter could sense that Elizabeth wasn’t telling him everything that had happened, but decided it was best to let it go for now.  They could talk about it together when they were all back home this evening.  “I can do that.  We’ll see you at home later.”

“Thanks, hon.”

Peter saw Neal come into the office about 45 minutes later.  Even from the vantage point of his office Peter could tell that Neal looked tired and sore, his movements lacking his normal grace.  

Peter waited and watched as nearly every member of the White Collar division stopped by Neal’s desk to welcome him back.  Neal nodded and smiled in all the right places, but it was clear to Peter that his partner’s heart wasn’t it.  Eventually Neal was left to his own devices and began typing into his computer.  Peter waited just a bit longer and then made his way down to Neal’s desk.

“Hey buddy, I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

Neal smirked, clearly not buying what Peter was selling.  “Really?  You haven’t spoken to El this afternoon?”

Peter nodded, acknowledging that Neal had caught him out.  “Yeah, she told me you got upset and needed to get out of the house for a while.”

Neal smiled bitterly.  “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Do you want to go get a cup of coffee and talk about it.”  Peter asked.  

The memory of his coffee mug lying in pieces on the floor, dark brown liquid spilled across the cabinets and the tiles spun in Neal’s head.  He swallowed hard against the image and the idea of putting another mug in his hand any time soon.  “No.  I just want to work on these reports for Ruiz.  Okay?”

Peter nodded.  “I’ll just go back up to my office for a while.  Let me know when you’re ready to go home.”

Neal simply nodded.  He didn’t want to tell Peter that it was going to be a long time before he felt ready to go home again.

At six-thirty Peter decided that he and Neal had both had enough for one day.  He closed up shop and headed down to his partner’s desk.  “We should get going if we want to make it home for dinner,” Peter said insouciantly hoping Neal was ready to go.

Neal didn’t look up from his monitor.  “I’ve still got a lot to do here.  I’ll find my own way back to the house later.”

Neal could sense Peter’s frown.  Neal hated to disappoint him, but he wasn’t ready to face Elizabeth again, or Peter when he found out just what Neal had nearly done earlier.  Just one more thing Neal could add to the list of reasons to be angry with himself.

After Peter left, Neal spent a few more hours working on his reports for Organized Crime until his eyes kept sliding shut of their own accord and Neal couldn’t make his fingers work the keyboard any longer.  He considered calling Mozzie and asking him if he could camp out at one of his safe houses, but he hadn’t spoken to Moz since the day before he went undercover and he didn’t think their first conversation should be about asking for a favor, especially when a lot of explaining would be involved.  He considered calling June, asking it he could stay in his old apartment for a night or two.  She wouldn’t ask why, but she would look at him with concern and probably call Peter at the first opportunity.  Then he considered going to a hotel, but the thought of lying alone in a strange bed held even less appeal than facing his lovers.  

In the end he grabbed a cab back to Brooklyn.  As he sat there on the uncomfortable, sticky vinyl seat everything caught up with him, the stress, the anxiety, the exhaustion, the physical pain and the hunger.  He curled in on himself as best he could with cracked ribs trying to hold himself together.  He wanted the life that he had three months ago back.  The one where his anklet was finally off for good, where Peter and Elizabeth’s home had just become his home and where the promise of a bright and happy future with his lovers was fresh and untainted.   

Despite the hour, the house was still brightly lit when he arrived.  When he got to the door he felt his chest tighten.  He took a moment to even out his breathing and then went inside.  Peter and El were sitting together on the sofa, Satchmo curled up at their feet, the Brooklyn Nets game playing on the television.  

Peter breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the key turning in the door.  He was beginning to worry that Neal wouldn’t come home at all.  He knew his partner well enough to know that he preferred to hide away and lick his wounds in private.  And, these wounds were pretty deep.  

Ruiz had called Peter about an hour ago and had given him some of the details that Neal had been putting into his incident reports.  Billy Riley had had his hand in quite a few unsavory activities over the past three months, things that Neal Caffrey, even during his most notorious criminal days would never have done.  And, knowing that Neal had been witness to the shooting death of another man, a death that was meant to ensure Billy Riley’s loyalty to the O’Neills, explained a lot.    

Peter was hard pressed to keep his expression neutral when Neal walked into the living room.  His partner looked awful, worse than he had in the hospital just the previous night.  Neal’s face was pale, his eyes red rimmed with black smudges below them.  While last night Neal had looked grim but determined, now he looked defeated and lost.  Elizabeth stiffened next to him, clearly seeing the same things as Peter.

“Hey, did you get your reports done?” Peter asked as casually as he could.  

Neal shrugged.  “Some.”

Neal was standing just inside the living room, looking confused as to what to do with himself, one hand pressed to his injured ribs.

El’s heart was breaking at the sight of Neal standing there so uncertain.  She went to him and wrapped him in a gentle hug.  Initially, Neal went rigid, and she tightened her hold slightly, careful not to put pressure on his injuries.  And, then he wilted in her arms, his head coming to rest against her shoulder.  “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he lamented.  

“Sshhh, baby, it’s okay.  We’re okay,” she soothed.  

Neal brought his arms around Elizabeth and pulled her in close burying his face against her neck.  She could feel his ragged breath hot against her skin.  Peter came up behind Neal and rubbed tender circles on his back.  They stayed that way for several minutes until Neal regained some control over his emotions and he pulled away from Elizabeth.

Peter guided Neal over to the sofa where Neal sat carefully dropping his head down to rest on its cushioned back.  He felt utterly spent.  Peter and El sat down on either side of him, El resting her head on his shoulder and Peter brushing his hair away from his forehead.  Neal closed his eyes and tried to pretend that everything really was okay.  But the anxiety that had been his constant companion over the last three months would not be denied, butterflies swirled in Neal’s chest and his leg began its unconscious bouncing.   

Neal’s stomach grumbled noisily.  Peter huffed in amusement and El placed her hand against Neal’s insistent belly.  “I made my homemade chicken soup for dinner.  Would you like a bowl?” she asked, keeping her tone light and relaxed.  

Neal sighed.  El’s innocent question brought him back again to what had happened in the kitchen that afternoon.  But, he was actually starving.  He wasn’t really sure when he had last eaten anything.  Lunchtime yesterday, maybe.  So much had happened in the interim.

“I can go get it.”  He replied finally, lifting his head up off the couch.  

Peter put his hand down on Neal’s shoulder, holding him in place.  “I’m sure you can, but you’re exhausted and in pain.  So you’re going to stay here with El and rest and I’m going to bring you some soup and some Advil."

Neal looked up into Peter’s eyes and decided the best course of action was to fold.  Peter had on his ‘I’m the Special Agent and you’re the CI face’, the one that Neal never won an argument with.  “Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary.  We’re just glad to have you home.”  Peter patted Neal’s bouncing leg and then went off to the kitchen.   

He returned a short time later with the promised soup, the Advil and a tall glass of water.  Neal ate his soup slowly savoring the warmth and the delicious, hearty flavors.  It was the best thing he had eaten in months.  

Peter watched the game while his partner ate, trying to give Neal a little space.  But he couldn’t help noticing that the leg next to his continued the nervous bouncing that had started almost as soon as Neal had sat down.  So Peter moved his hand over, placed it on Neal’s leg and gently rubbed from mid-thigh to knee and back again.  After a minute the bouncing slowed and then stopped and Peter kept up the soothing motion hoping to help ground Neal.  

Once Neal was finished the three of them went upstairs to bed.  Peter and El tucked Neal in between them and the security and warmth of their bodies lulled Neal off to sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

In the morning Neal knew exactly where he was when he woke.  Peter’s lips on his made certain of that.  Neal hummed and opened his mouth once again inviting Peter in.  And, again Peter accepted, languidly exploring Neal’s mouth with his tongue in the way only a well-acquainted lover could.  Neal kept his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of Peter.  Peter’s tongue in his mouth, Peter’s lips against his, Peter’s hands in his hair and moving softly along his chest.  It wasn’t long at all before Neal’s arousal grew, along with certain parts of his anatomy.  He pushed his hips up off the bed; a silent signal to Peter that the show was definitely on the road and wrapped his hands around Peter’s shoulders pulling him closer.

Neal could tell that Peter got the hint when he felt Peter’s hand on his hip, pushing Neal’s pajama bottoms down.  Neal tried to lift his hips again to help Peter along, but this time the movement pulled on his ribs and Neal fell back to the bed with a moan.  

Peter pulled his mouth away from Neal’s.  “Ssshhhh, I’ve got this.”  Neal felt Peter move down the bed and use both hands to carefully drag Neal’s pants down and then off his body.  

“El?”  Neal breathed out.

“Gone to an early client meeting.  It’s just you and me, buddy.”

Neal expected Peter to move back up again, but instead Peter’s hands spread Neal’s legs wide and Peter’s mouth flowed down Neal’s cock, his tongue sliding artfully along the vein on the underside.  Neal just about lost it right then, but Peter gave a quick tug to Neal’s balls to help stave off the inevitable.

“Peter,” Neal said, trying to convey all the love and devotion he felt for his partner in the simple statement of his name.  How many times had he dreamed of Peter’s hands on him, mouth on him, in those lonely months that he lived as Billy Riley?  

And, Peter’s mouth was most definitely on him, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked gently on Neal’s straining cock.  Then Neal felt a probing finger circle his hole, run up his perineum and then back down to dart inside of him.  He shivered at the intensity of feeling that Peter’s finger created in his body and his heart.

Peter’s finger was quickly joined by a second as he carefully stretched Neal open, the scissoring motion along with the continued sucking bringing Neal to the precipice.  

Peter could feel how close Neal was, so he swirled his tongue around the head of Neal’s dick one last time and then released him from the warm confines of his mouth.  Neal groaned at the loss of contact, but it was stifled a moment later when Peter’s fingers found his prostate.  Neal drew in as sharp a breath as possible with cracked ribs and pushed himself down onto Peter’s nimble fingers.

“I love you Neal Caffrey, don’t you ever forget it.”  Peter intoned as he swept his fingers over Neal’s sweet spot a second time.  

Neal had long since lost the ability to speak or even think rationally, but he nodded his head in acknowledgement of Peter’s words.

When Peter’s fingers slid carefully out of Neal’s body, Neal started to lift his knees up to his chest.  But Peter’s hands guided them down to lay flat on the bed again.  “Too hard on your ribs,” he said quietly.  

Then Peter was lying beside him again.  “Open your eyes, Neal,” he ordered.  Neal turned his head and opened his eyes.  Peter cupped Neal’s cheek in his hand and drew Neal’s face to his.  “It’s going to be okay, Neal.  We’ll make sure it is, together.”  Neal nodded wanting so much to believe that there was a way to turn back time, to regain what they had three months ago or at least to start fresh in the here and now.  Then Peter kissed him again, a kiss of conviction, love and promise.  

Peter pulled his lips away from Neal’s and then he gently rolled Neal onto his uninjured side, pushed his top leg up and away.  Then Peter slid his fingers back inside of his lover.  This time Peter’s mouth was on Neal’s neck sucking softly when he ran his fingers along Neal’s prostate.

Neal bucked against Peter’s hand.  “Please Peter.”

Peter gave Neal a final stretch as he removed his fingers.  Then he grabbed the condom he had left on the nightstand, rolled it on, added some lube and slowly pushed inside Neal’s body.  

Neal saw stars dance behind his closed eyelids as Peter slid all the way up inside him.  He reached back blindly and found Peter’s hand where it lay on his hip, took it in his own and brought them both to rest on his chest, over his heart.  He wanted Peter to know how it felt to him, how much he adored having Peter make love to him.

Peter placed a hungry kiss in the hollow behind Neal’s ear and then started moving, drawing almost all the way out of Neal and then sinking back in again.  Peter’s angle was spot-on, dragging his cock against Neal’s prostate in both directions.  Neal felt his arousal settle heavily in his belly as Peter pumped out and in again slowly, drawing out their union, keeping their culmination at bay.  Peter repeated the move again and again, keeping his pace measured, but his thrusts deep, sending surge after surge of pleasure through Neal.  Neal wanted to wait for Peter, but it had been so long and the slide of Peter’s body in his was so perfect.  

Peter could tell that Neal was trying to hang on for him when he felt Neal’s body stiffen.  He pulled out of Neal so slowly one last time.  “Come for me, Neal.”  He begged before biting down gently on Neal’s shoulder and driving into his partner aiming straight for Neal’s prostate.  

The combination of Peter’s words, teeth and cock sent Neal flying over the edge.  He came long and hard spurting cum across the bed as Peter pistoned into him.  He was still coming when Peter followed him over the edge driving as deeply into Neal as was physically possible.

When Neal came back to himself Peter’s softening cock was still buried deep inside him and Peter was planting sloppy kisses on Neal’s neck and shoulder.  He took Peter’s hand from his chest and kissed his palm, a thank you and an acknowledgement of Peter’s unconditional love for him.        

Eventually, Peter pulled out carefully, got rid of the condom and encircled Neal in his arms.  Neal felt himself melt into Peter’s warmth, his body and his mind relaxing in a way he hadn’t been able to achieve since before he went undercover.

“Go back to sleep,” Peter whispered.  Neal couldn’t help but comply.

***

When Neal woke again it was to the sound of keys clicking on a computer.  He opened his eyes and spotted Peter sitting in the chair across the room, his laptop balanced on his knees.  

“That can’t be comfortable.” Neal observed as he stretched out gingerly.   

Peter shrugged.  “It beats being at the office.”

“Actually, the office sounds pretty good to me right about now.”

Peter nodded.  “Yeah, I guess it does.”  Peter put the laptop down on the floor and moved over to sit on the edge of the bed next to Neal.  “How are you feeling?”

“Better.  Thank you for this morning.”  

Peter leaned over and kissed Neal.  “It was my pleasure.  Really.”  Peter replied as he smirked down at Neal and ran a hand through his lover’s hair.  “So, I think it’s time for us to talk about a few things.”  

Neal nodded, looking away from Peter.  “I know you’re angry about yesterday.”

“Hey, no.  Neal, I’m not angry with you at all.”

“I could have hurt Elizabeth, Peter.  I didn’t know what I was doing.  I lost control.  I could have thrown the mug right at her.”  Neal stated as he carefully shimmied up to a seated position in the bed so that he could face his partner.

“But you didn’t.  Neal, I talked to Ruiz.  I know what you put your reports.  I know what you did, what you went through while you were undercover.”

Neal shuddered, his face turning dark.  “I’m not the man I was three months ago.  I’ve done things that I would never have done before.  I was a criminal, a thief, a forger, a con, but even then, I wouldn’t have done the things that I did as Billy.  I don’t know who I am anymore.  I don’t like who I am anymore.”  

Neal’s words and the tone of his voice nearly broke Peter’s heart.  “You’re Neal Caffrey, the man who sacrificed his heart and soul to take down a major player in the Irish mob and who saved the lives of countless innocent young women.  And, you’re the man I love.”

The face of the girl who had so uselessly begged for his help came unbidden to Neal’s mind and his anxiety bloomed in his chest.  “You don’t understand.”

“I think I do, but explain it to me anyway,” Peter replied gently.  

“I hurt people.  I killed people, Peter.”  Neal confessed.  

Peter took one of Neal’s hands in both of his and squeezed it.  “No, Neal, you did not kill Hennessy, Collins did.”  Peter kept his voice calm, reasonable.  He could sense Neal’s growing agitation and hear it in the younger man’s voice.  

“He did it for me, Peter, for Billy.  It was an object lesson.”

“That doesn’t make you responsible for someone else’s actions, Neal.”

“I didn’t stop him.  I didn’t even try.  I’m responsible for that.”

“When we work in law enforcement we have to make choices.  We have to weigh the goal against the means.  You know that.  I know it doesn’t make it any easier to have seen Hennessy die Neal, but you made the right choice.  And you are not responsible for his death.”

Silent tears were leaking from Neal’s eyes, running over his cheeks.  

“Let me ask you something.  Were you armed that night?”

“No.”

“Then what do you think would have happened if you had tried to stop Collins?”

Neal shrugged.

“You and Hennessy would both be dead.  It’s okay that you feel guilty for Hennessy’s death.  It’s right that you wish you could have stopped it.  That’s what makes you a good person, Neal.  The fact that you didn’t walk away from this the same way that you entered into it.  And the fact that you stuck it out and that O’Neill is going down for a long time for human trafficking.   _You_ did that Neal.”  

“I’m not sure the cost was worth it.”  Neal replied and then he hesitated.  Peter knew about Hennessy, but Neal hadn’t put anything in his reports about the girl that had died.  He didn’t know for sure that he was ready to talk about her, but he had to start somewhere and the truth was probably the best place.  “One of the girls that night at the pier, she grabbed my jacket, begged me for help.”  Neal took a deep breath, trying to ease the tightness in his chest.  “She was killed in the crossfire.”  Neal swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.  “I keep seeing her face.”

Peter reached up and wiped Neal’s tears away.  “Oh Neal, I’m so sorry.”  The absurdity of Neal having any personal contact with the one girl who had been killed during the takedown was unfathomable and appalling.  Peter paused a moment, considering the best way to continue.

“Do you think it was easy for me to kill Adler?”

Neal looked up sharply.  “No, of course not.”  

“I made a choice that day.  You or Adler.  It was definitely the right choice, but it wasn’t easy.  And I live with the consequences, both good and bad every day.”

“How?  How do you get through the day without thinking about it?  I know I can’t go back, but I don’t know how to move on.”

“We can’t go back.  But, we will go forward, one day at a time.  You know we have a secret weapon?”

“Secret weapon?”

“We have El, and each other, and Satchmo, and Diana and Jones, and even Mozzie.”

Peter brought Neal’s hand up and kissed the inside of his wrist.  “I know it’s not going to be easy.  It’s going to take time.  But we’ll do it together.”

“I don’t know Peter.”  Neal shook his head.  “I love you and Elizabeth so much, but I’m not sure I even like myself any more.  Worse, I don’t know if I trust myself.”    

“I do.”  Peter said with conviction.  “I trust you Neal.  I trust you to let us help you.  I trust you to get through this.  I trust you to figure out how to like yourself again.  Check that, you’re Neal Caffrey, I trust you to figure out how to love yourself again.”

Peter scooted forward on the bed so that he could wrap his arms around Neal.

Neal leaned into Peter, dropped his head to rest on Peter’s shoulder and allowed himself be comforted and loved.  

“Just promise me one thing, Neal.  Promise me that you’ll try.  That you’ll give us and yourself a chance.”  

Neal tightened his arms around Peter and nodded into his partner’s neck.  “I want things to be better.  I waited a long time to have a life with you and El.  I don’t want to give up on that.”

“Thank you.”  Peter was deeply relieved to hear that Neal hadn’t given up on them.  “I’ve got a suggestion for a first step,” he continued lightly.

“Yeah?”

“You take a shower while I change the sheets on this bed.  El will be home soon and we’re going to be in some serious trouble if she finds it like this.”

“You mean coated in our sweat and my cum?”

“Yeah.”  

“Sounds like a good first step to me.”

***

When El came home she found Peter in the bedroom putting fresh cases on the pillows.  She could hear the shower running in the bathroom next door.

“Hi hon,” she said as she dropped her bag on the chair and joined Peter beside the bed.  

“Hey.  How was your meeting?”

“Good.  How did things go here?”  She asked surveying the newly made bed with a knowing smile.

“Good.”  Peter replied smiling back at her.

“And Neal?”

“He’s better, I think.  We talked.  It’s going to take some time, but with our help and support I think he’ll be okay.”  Peter swallowed.  It had been a difficult conversation and Peter still felt heartbroken over what Neal had had to live through in these last three months.

“Then why do you look so sad?” El asked, taking Peter’s hands in hers.

“I knew it was a bad idea to let Neal do this.  It’s one thing to impersonate an artist, a wealthy womanizer, an international man of mystery, it’s another thing to pretend to be a low-level lowlife.  He had to do things El, that Neal never would have imagined doing otherwise.  And, now he has to find out how to live with them and become our Neal again.  I just wish, he wishes we could turn back time.  But we can’t, so we have to learn how to move forward, together.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do, together.”

***

In the morning, Neal was sitting at the breakfast table in one of his favorite suits when Peter came downstairs.  He was nursing a cup of coffee and an empty cereal bowl was sitting at his elbow.  

“Hey, you sure you’re ready to go in today?  I don’t think anyone would mind if you took a long weekend.  It is Friday after all.”

“I’d really like to get my reports finished for Organized Crime.  The sooner they’re done, the sooner I can move on.”

“Okay.”  Peter nodded.  “Let me grab a bite and we’ll be off.”

Midmorning Neal came into Peter’s office, shut the door behind him and sat in his usual chair.

Neal looked tired again and the set of jaw showed his anxiety.  “Neal?”

Neal fidgeted in his chair, his leg bouncing at a prodigious rate.  Peter got up, went around the desk and sat next to his partner in the other guest chair.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“I want to be able to move forward Peter, I really do.”  Neal looked up at Peter, his eyes imploring.  “But, I don’t know if I’ll be able to unless some things get settled.  And, I think I’m going to need your help.”

“Okay.  Whatever I can do.”  If Peter was honest with himself, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to help remove the haunted look from Neal’s eyes.

“The AUSA, he doesn’t want to pursue a murder charge on Collins.  He says that even with Jimmy Hennessy’s body, they don’t have enough evidence.”

“They have eyewitness testimony from an undercover CI, the same CI who led them to the body, the same CI who brought them the entire human trafficking case.”  Peter stated incredulously.  

“Jameson doesn’t want to use me.  He says my testimony won’t have credibility with a jury.”

“Jameson doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”  Peter couldn’t keep his irritation from showing in his voice.

“He’s got a point, Peter.”  Neal replied reasonably.  “I’m still a CI, not an agent.  I have a record.  I did time myself.  None of those things is ever going to go away.”

“He _had_ a point, six months ago.  He doesn’t have one now.  Neal, you’re anklet’s off, you’re a law-abiding citizen and a contracted employee of the FBI.  That changes things.  You see that right?”    

Neal shrugged.

“I’ll talk to Jameson.  If that doesn’t work, I’ll have Hughes talk to Jameson.  Even without the murder weapon he’s got more than enough evidence to get a conviction.”  

“Thanks, Peter.”

“You’re welcome.”

Neal looked away from Peter again.  Something else was clearly on his mind.

Peter moved his hand to Neal’s knee and pressed down gently.  “What else Neal?”

Neal looked at Peter’s hand on his knee and reminded himself that he wasn’t alone in this, at least not anymore.  He took a deep breath and stilled his leg.  “The girl who...  I want to send her home to her family.”  

Peter nodded.  “I’ll make some calls to immigration.  See if we can find out her name from one of the other girls and where she was from.  Then we’ll take it from there, okay?”

Neal nodded.   

What followed was a long ten days of arguments with lawyers, negotiations with bureaucrats, intense depositions and detailed arrangements with the funeral home and the airline and a transportation service in Belarus.  But when it was over Collins was indicted for murder one and Vicki Zycheskue was returned home to a remote village near the Russian border.     

Neal insisted on accompanying the body to the airport.  Peter cringed at the thought, images of another airport, the death of another young woman and the pain it had caused Neal coming unbidden to his mind.  But, he agreed to drive Neal nonetheless and stood by his side on the tarmac as Neal silently and stoically watched the coffin being loaded onto the plane.

Neal was still silent on the drive back to Brooklyn.  He spent the trip staring out the passenger side window.  But when Peter decided the hell with two-handed driving and wrapped his right hand around Neal’s left, his partner held on tightly for the remainder of the trip.

Back at the house, Neal retreated to the small space they had set up for him as a studio on the third floor.  Peter saw it as a good sign, Neal hadn’t gone up there since he had come back home from his undercover stint.  It was mid-afternoon so Peter spent a little time working on his laptop and then started making dinner for the three of them.  By the time El came home, the steak Peter had grilled was resting, the potatoes were ready to come out of the oven and he was just putting the finishing touches on the salad.

“Hey, where’s Neal?”  Elizabeth asked as he came into the kitchen.  

“Up in his studio.”  

“Really”?

Peter nodded, smiling.  “He went up there as soon as we got back from the airport.”

El frowned.  “Are you sure he was okay?  How did he seem in the car?”

Peter didn’t like the implication of El’s thoughts.  Was it possible that he missed something and had left Neal alone when his partner needed him?  “He was quiet, but he didn’t seem upset.”

El nodded.  “You’re right, I’m sure he’s fine.  It looks like dinner is just about ready so why don’t you go up and get him?”

Peter could be clueless about a lot of things, but he was very aware of how clueless he could be when it came to deep emotions.  “Maybe it would be better if you went.”   

El walked over to Peter and took him in her arms.  “Peter, you know that Neal and I love each other, but when he needs help or he’s hurting, you’re the one he turns to.  You should go up.”

The door to Neal’s studio was shut so Peter knocked softly.  When there was no response and Peter could hear no sounds through the door he became worried, even more worried than El’s words had made him just minutes ago.

“Neal?” he called out as he opened the door.      

The room was bathed in the fading evening light coming through the twin windows on the south side of the room.  Next to them sat Neal’s easel, an empty canvas resting on its ledge.  Peter’s eyes fell on the “man chair” that he had been loath to part with when he and El had moved into the house.  El had kindly insisted that it didn’t match the decor instead of honestly asserting that the thing was ugly.  But, it was the most comfortable piece of furniture that Peter had ever owned, he had refused to part with it and so it had been relegated to the third floor.  

Neal was curled up in it apparently sound asleep.  He was dressed in a pair of Peter’s old sweatpants and a white tank top.  The pants hung low on his narrow hips and where the shirt rode up against the arm of the chair Peter could still see the bruising where Seamus O’Neill had beamed Neal in the ribs with the maglite.  They were a faded, mottled light green and yellow now, but they were a reminder of what Neal had suffered since his anklet had been removed.  

Peter knelt down in front of the chair.  Despite the dark circles that still sat under his still pale cheeks, Neal looked relaxed, at ease.  Peter hoped the look stayed after he woke Neal.  

He put his hand down gently on Neal’s knee.  “Hey buddy, it’s time for dinner.”

Neal shifted and sighed, but didn’t wake.

Peter gave his knee a shake and repeated a little louder, “Neal, dinner time.”

This time produced the desire result.  Neal yawned, stretched and then opened his eyes.  He smiled when he saw Peter kneeling before him, a genuine, Neal Caffrey full-watt smile.  Peter felt his heart soar at the sight of it.  

“Have a good nap?”  He asked, grinning up at his lover.

Neal nodded.  “I did.”

“You know, we have a rather comfortable bed downstairs.”

“I came up here intending to paint.  But this chair looked so inviting, I couldn’t help myself.”

“I know, right.  Hey, maybe you can help me convince El of its charms and then we can move it down to the living room.”

Neal glanced down at the chair, it was amazingly comfortable, but it was also the clunkiest-looking, ugliest brown and gold plaid upholstered monstrosity that Neal had ever laid eyes on.  He looked up at Peter with a ‘you’re kidding right’ glint in his eyes.  “Not going to happen, Peter.”

“You always take El’s side,” Peter whined.

“When it comes to food, fashion or decor, yes and with good reason.”

Peter stood and offered a hand to Neal to help him up.  “Come on, dinner’s getting cold.”

Neal took Peter’s hand and let his partner support him as he stood.  Then Neal wrapped his arms around him and kissed him.  “Thank you, Peter, for all your help and support over the past two weeks,” he murmured against Peter’s cheek after he broke the kiss.  “I couldn’t have done it without you.”  

Peter wrapped his arms around Neal’s back and pulled him snugly against his chest.  “Thank you for letting me help, Neal.  Thank you for coming home to us.”

“I still have some things to work through,” Neal hedged.

“I know.  But you’ve come a long way and we’ll get there together, right?”

Neal smiled again, a smile that danced in his eyes.  “We will.”    

When they got downstairs they found the table set, the wine opened and their meal laid out.  El smiled to see them both look so relaxed and content for the first time in months.  She pulled the chair away from the head of the table and offered it Neal.  

Neal glanced at Peter.  Peter smiled and waved his hand in invitation.

Neal sat at the head of the table with Peter on his right and El on his left.  They drank the wine, and ate the food while El regaled them with the story of the fiasco between her latest client and her favorite caterer.  There were smiles and laughter and for the first time in a long time the house on Dekalb Avenue felt like a home.    


End file.
